


Introspection

by clare009



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 22:18:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2484359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clare009/pseuds/clare009
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was Carol thinking when she lost her daughter?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Introspection

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this about a year ago about Carol's frame of mind when she lost her daughter in season 2. I love how all the seeds for her recent character development were planted even as far back as then.

The others, they all looked at her as if she was dumb. She wasn’t, she knew the odds of finding her daughter whole and alive were fading with the daylight. They looked at her with pity, from out the corners of their eyes, with sideways glances. Pity for the woman who had lost a husband and now a daughter within days of each other. She didn’t want their damn pity. She wanted them to find her daughter.

 

Inside, Carol trembled with anger. But, long ago, she’d learned to keep her mouth shut and her eyes down. So she bottled it up and did the only thing she could—she cried.

 

The might think her weak, and they were probably right, but she had a steel core, one they knew nothing about. She’d be damned if she’d give up looking for Sofia, even if they all decided to leave, she’d stay and find her daughter, alone, if she had to. Even if she had no idea what she was doing. Even if she died trying.

 

Something roused her from where she sobbed quietly into the comforter wrapped around her. She twisted and sat up and looked across the camper. Daryl was standing in the dark, shouldering his crossbow. He gave her a steady look and nodded, then stepped out into the night.

 

He frightened her, but Daryl understood. He was the only one. There was still a chance, however small, that Sofia wasn’t gone. Maybe he wouldn’t let the others abandon her to search alone.

 

—-

 

By the time they’d set up camp outside the farmhouse, Carol did what she did best—she buried her emotions down deep and played homemaker. Washing, cleaning, cooking—it was so easy to do all these things and not have to think.

 

Rick had taken charge, and was arranging search parties. She wasn’t asked to participate.

 

She stitched one of Sofia’s shirts, the sharp needle slashing back and forth between the strands of the fabric. It was all she could do. She couldn’t swing a knife or handle a gun. But they didn’t know that she’d do it if she had to—she could learn.

 

Shane had said you needed to turn a switch off. He’d been speaking to Andrea, but Carol overheard their conversation. She understood it. She’d had to turn that switch off so many times over the years. She had to, in order to survive. They didn’t know, but she knew all about survival. She could be strong, if she needed to. Just ask Ed. She’d been strong enough to use that pick ax.

 

Carol looked over to the cherokee rose that Daryl had put on the table. He’d had some story, some legend about the trail of tears, and hope, and he’d said the flower had bloomed for her daughter.

 

She was still out there. She was. Carol could feel it. She couldn’t give up now.

 

A slice of pain lanced through her finger, and she winced. She’d gone and stuck herself with the damn needle. A drop of blood blossomed on her fingertip and dripped onto the cotton she was holding. She quickly sucked her finger and grimaced. She’d have to wash the shirt.

 

—-

 

Daryl found Sophia’s doll. Half near killed himself in the process, but it was the first real sign she’d had that her daughter might not be… might not be… Carol choked on the thought. She wiped her hand across her eyes. She needed to stop crying. Crying wasn’t going to help her daughter.

 

She shook it off and continued her job of rounding up supplies for dinner. She could do that, at least. That was easy.

 

As she neared the house, half a cardboard box of canned and dry goods in her arms, she looked up towards the window of the room they’d taken Daryl to. He’d been covered in blood and grime when they carried him in from the field, and Carol had found her heart racing in panic. He was going to be fine, though, Dale had said.

 

She couldn’t shake the trembling as she entered the house and set about organising things in the kitchen. What if he’d died out there? It would have been her fault. She’d wanted them all to keep searching for Sophia, knowing the odds of her being alive were slipping away. But she would never want any of them to die in the process. And Daryl… he’d been so considerate of her… unexpectedly so. 

 

Later, when she took up his meal, she’d told him he was every bit as good as Rick and Shane, and she meant it.

 

—-

 

Her daughter was dead.

 

Carol wished it was her. The pain in her gut was physical. It burned like fire. She’d gone from choking, wracking sobs, where she was retching in dry heaves, to this.

 

This was a false sense of calm.

 

Inside her was a rolling mess. But she sat quietly and picked at the linoleum of the table in front of her.

 

Daryl climbed into the RV. She glanced at him, but returned to staring ahead at nothing. She had nothing to say. He didn’t leave, though. He sat there, on the counter, his shotgun resting on his knees, and kept watch.

 

It was better that he didn’t say anything.

 

She wanted to hate him for the hope he’d instilled in her. Everyone, everyone had known Sophia was gone. Even she had known it, but Daryl had kept on fanning that false hope that her daughter might possibly be alive out there. Her fingers curled into small fists. She wanted to bury them in his chest. She wanted to hurt him. The wound inside her was so raw and deep, and he was the salt.

 

But she couldn’t bring herself to say anything, and Daryl… he just continued to sit there, continued to watch her. She felt his eyes on her like a brush of fingertips along her neck.

 

She waiting for him to leave for what seemed like hours, until Lori came to tell them it was time.

 

Carol shook her head.

 

It was like she’d needed Lori, or anyone really, to give her permission to talk. It all came spilling out. That thing was not her daughter. Sophia had died long ago. There had never been any hope.

 

And she knew that every word she spoke was as good as a fist in his chest, or a lash across his back. She could almost see him flinch. But she couldn’t help it. Her daughter was dead.

 

—-

 

All she had to do was keep an eye on her.

 

She couldn’t get the words out of her head.

 

When he’d said it, it was in anger, but she’d felt the truth of them settle in her gut. And really, that was the heart of it, wasn’t it?

 

Carol walked slowly back to the RV, the crunch of twigs and leaves under her feet, and let the words sink in.

 

Her daughter was dead and she’d blamed everyone else for what had happened, except herself. She was the one who’d let her daughter go off by herself when she should have kept her right by her side. She had trusted Rick to go after her. She had let Daryl search for her. And she’d done nothing.

 

Just like all those years with Ed.

Carol stopped and looked back towards Daryl’s camp.

 

She knew he’d spoken in anger, partly anger she’d provoked, but she couldn’t fault his words.

 

And she’d be damned if she ever stood by and did nothing ever again.


End file.
